


White Out

by ConsultingCaffrey



Category: Walking Out - David Quammen, White Collar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:46:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingCaffrey/pseuds/ConsultingCaffrey
Summary: The events of Walking Out, but with our two favorite boys.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to me!  
> I've been working on this since October and I promised I would have something done tonight. This is a little late, and I didn't get done all I wanted to, so I only have the first chapter.  
> The second is nearly done and will be up soon (maybe even tomorrow) so look for that. Once that's up, though, it'll take me a while to do chapter three.

New York was Peter's jurisdiction. His playground. It was plenty to keep his hands full, and as long as it kept bringing him cases, that was where he was content to stay.

He'd gone out of state before, helping the bureau with bigger cases that lay within his areas of expertise. Those were always fun, especially since he got to work with people from other offices and share stories. Catching the bad guys was also quite satisfying. They were all the same no matter what part of the county you went to.

What did all that have to do with anything? Ask Jones.

He was in Peter's office, handing him a case that was from Montana, of all places. An arms dealer named Eddie Mayer was causing trouble there and the local police weren't enough.

"Why are you showing me this?" Peter asked, frowning and scanning the information on the first page.

"Look at the surveillance photos," Jones said, something in his voice implying that Peter would know it when he saw what he was getting at.

He flipped to the pictures. The first one was of Mayer, a closeup of his face. He had long blond hair that looked more like a lion's mane, and a pair of sunglasses pushed up on his head. Sharp blue eyes glared at something off to his right.

The second picture was of Mayer and several other men, all walking across a small street in what looked like a very small town. Big Timber, Peter recalled from that first page in the file. He glanced up at Jones, puzzled. "What am I looking at here?"

"Office work must be dulling your investigative skills," he teased lightly, nodding at the picture. "Check out the guy in the brown coat with the red hat."

He did, squinting down at the man. He was tall, though not as tall as Mayer. With one foot taking a step, his body half turned, he was the picture of suspicion as his eyes glanced back the way they'd come. His chin was dark with a short beard streaked with silver, but underneath that, he looked oddly familiar. Peter squinted some more, focusing on his face.

"Neal?" he murmured, then glanced sharply at Jones. "How did you find him?"

"A friend," he replied. "It was pure coincidence. I just happened to spot him in the file. I haven't told anyone but you," he added, more quietly.

"Thank you, Jones," Peter said, staring down at the picture. "I need to decide what to do with this."

Luckily, Jones knew not to press, so he stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

Peter shook his head with an uneasy sigh. "What are you doing, Caffrey?" Last he'd checked, Neal was supposed to be off in Paris or wherever, living his life off anklet after faking his death. And Peter had let him, knowing that it would only cause trouble for them both if he were to start chasing Neal again. But this... It looked like Neal had gotten in with the wrong crowd once again. What was he thinking?

That was how he'd ended up on a flight to Montana, still staring at Neal's picture with a bad feeling in his gut about this whole thing.

-)()(-

One Week Earlier...

Cal was a quiet man, one who kept to himself, for the most part. He was a creature of mystery. A lonely soul who had wandered into town one day and had made himself at home. Nobody had questioned it. He fit like a puzzle piece. A carefully designed one meant to remain as unnoticed as possible.

Neal, on the other hand, was dead. No more anklet, no more FBI. He could finally rest in peace. At least, that's what Cal told himself.

He'd been living just outside Big Timber for close to three years now. He'd settled into this life quite nicely, and made a few friends here and there. No enemies yet. In a place as small as this, it was hard to piss people off, especially when you weren't hostile, never said a mean word to anyone, and never hurt a fly.

Over the long course of his criminal career, he'd pissed off a lot of bad people. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that he'd run into one of those people, even while hiding so perfectly from them.

It was by some terrible coincidence that he'd run smack into Bruno Wickersham on his way out of the little coffee shop he visited almost every day. Bruno was a very big man, hard to miss. He could probably bench press a small car like it was nothing, but that was most likely his imagination getting away from him.

The point wasn't that Bruno was a rhino of a man, it was that he recognized his face. One large, meaty hand grabbed Cal's shoulder and he looked at him incredulously. "Halden?"

Cal blinked up at him. He'd never gotten on Bruno's bad side and the big brute didn't even know that it was he who had gotten his former boss incarcerated by the feds. And he didn't ever have to know. This would be easy to slide by. He showed one of his patented grins, looking at the man like an old friend. "Hey! Long time no see. What are you doing all the way out here?"

Bruno smiled, beckoning to him. "Why don't we go talk over a beer? Seeing how our last arrangement worked out, I still owe you a job. And I just might have one for ya."

Okay, not good. Backpedal. Fast. 

"Actually, I don't do that kind of thing anymore," Cal said, trying to look as apologetic as he could.

Bruno frowned. "Aw, come on, man. Don't tell me that FBI nonsense with Blaney scared you that bad."

Cal shook his head. "No, that was years ago. I've just retired, that's all. But it was nice to see you."

He should have known that wouldn't be the end of it...

-)()(-

Peter stepped off the plane and looked around. Already, it was so much different than New York. The air was crisp with winter snow that fell peacefully, not yet heavy enough to cover the small airstrip. From here, he was told it was an hour long drive to Big Timber. Already, he was looking forward to taking in the scenery, but scenery wasn't the reason he was here. Neal was. Also an arms dealer with a known history of violence.

He was able to get a taxi to take him there, and while he waited for it to show up, he sat down inside the building and opened up the file again. What was Neal doing with these people? He never worked with anyone like that, not of his own free will. So then there had to be more. Maybe blackmail, maybe he was being threatened, or someone else was. The point was that he knew Neal. This was a red flag that his friend was in trouble.

The taxi came to pick him up and the driver made small talk with him on the way. He seemed like a happy little guy. A kid, really.

"Business or pleasure?" he asked with a smile, looking in the rearview mirror through thick glasses.

"A little bit of both, I hope," Peter answered. "But probably mostly business."

"Yeah? What do you do?"

Peter smiled. "What do you think, if you had to guess?" He knew he didn't look so much like an agent anymore. His hair was greying and his posture was terrible from hunching over his desk all day.

"Hm... salesman? I dunno, give me a hint."

"I like Vikings."

This was one of his favorite games.

Once they reached Big Timber, Peter paid the guy his fare, plus a small tip, then looked around. The place wasn't as small as it had seemed in the pictures, but it was definitely no New York.

The hotel he found was cheap, but still clean and nice enough for him not to worry about the sheets on the bed or anything like that. The TV was turned on as soon as he got himself settled, and he was pleased to find a game, so he left it on that channel while he called Elizabeth, standing next to the window.

She picked up on the second ring, a smile in her voice. "How's our mountain man? Did you get there okay?"

He could hear his son in the background making car noises while he played. "Yeah, I did. No mountains just yet, but I'm sure I'll get to appreciate their beauty in between chasing bad guys."

"And chasing Neal," El said knowingly. "Do you really think he's working with Mayer?"

"That's what it looks like. But when it comes to Neal Caffrey, we both know that things are never as they seem. I'm worried he's gotten in over his head again."

Elizabeth sighed. "Just be careful. He has a tendency to get you in trouble."

"I know," Peter said. "So how's Junior?" They'd started calling their son by his middle name, Robert. Robbie for short. But Peter liked to call him Junior too. The poor kid was going to grow up so confused.

He could practically hear his wife's smile grow. "He's a troublemaker. Did I tell you he's started pretending to be asleep so he doesn't have to eat his vegetables?"

Peter laughed. "I noticed that before I left. If he keeps this up, I'm gonna have the bureau issue him a miniature tracking anklet."

"And don't forget the hat," Elizabeth added. Then she sighed, switching back to the previous subject. "But you will be careful, won't you?"

"Of course," he promised. "It's getting late here. I should get some sleep. But I'll call you tomorrow, I promise," he said.

"Love you, hon," she said.

"Love you too, hon."

-)()(-

Five Days Earlier...

Cal wasn't one to care whether or not people liked him or noticed him, for that matter. He didn't give a damn that there was a guy staring at him intently from across the room as he picked up a few things to cook for dinner that night.

Neal, on the other hand, was acutely aware of it and he paid very close attention. It wasn't Bruno. This was somebody new. He had long blonde hair and he wasn't dressed anything like the people from around here. With his fancy grey suit and his designer sunglasses, not to mention those shiny expensive shoes, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Neal smiled inwardly, remembering a time when he had worn things like that and thought so highly of himself. But he'd been forced to go deep into this alias of his. He wanted to make sure he would never be found by anyone, not even Mozzie. As sad as that was, it was necessary. 

The city boy moved, apparently deciding he liked what he saw, and he strolled over casually. "Nick Halden. I've heard good things."

Cal-Neal-Nick glanced over at him with clear disinterest. "Whatever you have going on, I suggest you take it somewhere else. I'm out of the game."

He was completely and utterly ignored, the man extending his hand. "Edward Mayer. Perhaps you've heard of me."

He hadn't, and he didn't shake the hand that was offered to him. "Well, Eddie, I can't help you. Good luck, though, with whatever it is you've got your eye on."

He turned to walk away, only to be confronted by Bruno and three other men, which made him pause, sharp eyes taking them all in quickly.

Bruno stood in the middle. Off to his right were two short, skinny guys who looked like they could be the same person. Twins. Their dark hair was styled differently, though, so it would be easy to tell them apart. To Bruno's left was a man who wore a baseball cap and a heavy coat. His mouth was set in a deep frown and his eyes, though cast in shadow, appeared to glare at everything. A bulldog, that's what he looked like.

Taking all that in, he quickly came to the conclusion that he didn't have a choice in this particular matter, so he turned back to Mayer, clearly the ringleader, and gave him a big fake smile. "What is it you want from me?"

Mayer seemed pleased. "Let's talk. Come with us." His tone left no room for argument, neither did the gun that was pressed to his back as he started walking, following Bruno and the others.

In a town like this, somebody being walked down the street at gunpoint would be met with a bunch of rugged old men with their own guns asking what the hell was going on, then demanding for the poor innocent victim to be left alone. That was what Neal hoped for, anyway. The people of this town liked him, and it wouldn't surprise him if a few of them leaped to his rescue. But unfortunately, Mayer kept the gun carefully concealed, walking close behind him so that nobody could see what was really going on. If anything, people just stared at the man in the fancy suit and paid little attention to much else.

He'd never put much trust in civilians anyway. They weren't like him. Or like Peter. Peter had always been there, bursting onto the scene with guns blazing, so to speak. But Peter wasn't here now. He was on his own.

-)()(-

They were a careful bunch, Peter would give them that. But Mayer and his good looks didn't go unnoticed around here. People remembered him. 

Most didn't know anything, though, so Peter was quickly running out of breadcrumbs to follow. At least until he met Joan. She was the owner of the coffee shop he'd been visiting while he was in town. Not the greatest coffee ever, but it was definitely a step up from the sludge at the bureau.

Joan was a tough woman. Her skin was rough with burns, and her voice sounded like she'd been smoking all her life. Peter wondered if those two things were related, but he wasn't going to ask. Besides, she had already asked him a question, sneaking up behind him.

"You law enforcement?"

He glanced up at her, jumping slightly. "Pardon?"

"Law enforcement," she repeated. "You look like a cop if I ever saw one. That or a lawyer. I'm not a big fan of either, but I do have use for one of them."

Peter tilted his head. She seemed to already know exactly who he was, so he played along. "Oh? Which one would you be needing?"

"Depends. I think a friend of mine is in need of a little help. Don't have much to go on, but maybe somebody who knew his way around the law could figure it out for me."

She knew.

Peter sat forward, looking at her curiously. "So, this friend of yours... What's he done?"

"Nothing yet," she said, pouring more coffee into his mug. "But I know him. He's a sweetheart. Whatever he's into, it isn't his fault. You seen those guys around? Real fancy types. I don't trust them."

Peter quickly reached for his phone, bringing up a picture of Mayer. "This wouldn't happen to be one of them, would it?"

She only had to look for a second before nodding. "Yeah, that's him. So, you gonna help, Officer...?"

"Call me Peter," he said. "And yes. I'm after Mayer. But I'm also looking for someone. A friend."

"Wouldn't happen to be talking about Cal, would you?" she asked. "Because that's who I'm worried for. Saw him leave with them a few days ago and he hasn't been back since."

Having a bad feeling about that, Peter brought up another picture, this one of Neal. He didn't look like what she was probably used to, since it was from back when he was still working cases with the FBI. It was the "prom picture" that El had taken of the two of them.

Joan squinted at it, then whistled. "Damn. Yeah, that's Cal alright. Always the looker, huh?"

Peter chuckled. "That's Cal." Interesting name. It was a great start. But it didn't matter much if Neal had been taken by Mayer and his crew, most likely being forced to do a job. He looked up at Joan. "If you hear from him at all, please call me." He took a business card from his pocket and held it out to her. 

She took it, looking it over for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "Fed, huh? Pegged you for a detective or something." She stuck the card in the pocket of her shirt, then looked back at Peter seriously. "Be honest with me. Are you looking for Cal because he's your friend and you want to get him out of trouble, or is it something else?"

"I'm here as his friend," Peter assured her. "He has a bad habit of getting himself into trouble and I just want to make sure he doesn't get hurt. Plus it's also my job to catch people like Mayer."

She nodded, seeming satisfied. "Well then good luck to you, Agent."

Peter watched her go, pondering over this new information. So Neal -or Cal- had been here a while. But how long? When had he left Paris? And when had he started running around a place like this looking like a lumberjack?

All those questions were unanswered for the moment, but the sooner he found Neal, the sooner they'd be answered.

When he got up to leave the coffee shop, he didn't expect to see Mayer and one of his friends walking down the street outside. 

They didn't know him, so he didn't have to hide or anything, but he avoided looking at them anyway, at least until they were past the coffee shop. Could it really be this easy?

Well, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he headed out, watching them more closely as they walked over to a big red truck and got in. He just hoped he remembered how to tail someone properly. He was a bit out of practice. And this was no busy New York street.

"Hang tight, Neal," he murmured to himself, his breath fogging the air as he got in the car he was renting. 

-)()(-

Neal slipped back into the mindset of Nick Halden, who would be a little irked that he had been driven about two hours into the wilderness and shoved in a tiny log cabin with the twins and Bruno, but he'd also be intrigued. What did they want him to do? He was sure whatever it was, he was the man for the job. His talents were... many.

But Neal was outright pissed off. This was the kind of thing he'd been trying to get away from. This was what he'd given his life up to avoid. And here came these cocksure, gun-wielding jackasses who didn't give a damn about the fact that he'd told them at least ten times that he was retired. All they were interested in was money.

Once the job was done, maybe that would be the end of it and they let him get back into Cal's shoes. Of course, he knew he was lying to himself by thinking that. They had no intention of letting him go. If they had dragged him all the way out here and hadn't even told him the job yet, they were more paranoid than reasonable. They were the kind of people who didn't leave even the smallest string of a loose end.

Bruno clearly wasn't picking up on that. The big lug was going on about how they were going to work great together and they were going to be the best of friends. Also rich beyond belief. That bit got Neal curious. What exactly was Mayer planning to do anyway? Why all the way out here?

He kept those questions to himself, somehow already knowing they wouldn't be met with the answers he wanted.

Mayer and Bulldog didn't stay away more than a couple days. During that time, it was actually sort of pleasant. Bruno had a deck of cards and he was such a poor player that Neal didn't even have to cheat to clean out his wallet. The twins were sort of creepily standing by, silent as usual. Was that just a twin thing, the creepiness aspect? He wondered where that came from.

When the sound of car treads on snow made them all glance towards the door, Neal felt that old adrenaline kick in. Mayer was back. That meant something was going to happen.

"Okay," Mayer smiled, shutting the door behind him. Apparently Bulldog had better things to do than come inside. "So, Nick, how good are you at forging IDs?"

Neal put on a confident smile. "The best."

Mayer looked pleased. "Permits? Passports?"

Neal nodded. "Not a problem. I just need to know what they're for."

That got him a chuckle. "I don't think so. Just make them for us, that's all we need from you."

Neal didn't bother to hide the irritation in his voice when he said, "I need to know what they're for or I can't help you. Permits especially. You have to have the correct seal, the correct layout, wording, everything. So unless you expect me to take a wild guess and most likely spend time making something you won't need, then give me details."

Mayer looked like he wanted to snap at him, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed to reason with himself for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. Cutter will get you everything you need. Make a list."

Amateur...

"Oh, and Halden... I'll be checking it before you give it to Cutter."

Okay, maybe not such an amateur, but Neal was confident he could get himself out of this. He'd done more with less. He'd just need to formulate a plan, and then try to put things on this list that could come in handy but wouldn't cause too much suspicion. Simple enough.

However, before he could even start, all the lights shut off rather suddenly, pitching the whole cabin into darkness.

Having always been one to take advantage of opportunity when it presented itself, Neal was out the door in a flash. The only thought in his head was to get to the truck. If he got there, he was golden.

But Bulldog -Cutter- was on him almost immediately, and Neal knew he didn't stand a chance up against a man built like that. The possibility of getting to the truck and making it out of here safely had dropped far too much and he definitely regretted making a move now.

Cutter's hands were like a double vice around his throat as he was driven to the ground, but only for a second.

Then a shot rang out and Neal flinched, half expecting to feel pain, but instead, Cutter's grip loosened and he became literal dead weight on top of him.

Neal quickly wiggled out from underneath the man and sprang to his feet, looking around wildly. Mayer wouldn't shoot one of his own men, would he? No. So who-

"Halden!" No time to think. He had mere seconds to act, and when he saw Mayer through the now open door, reaching for a shotgun, he bolted. Not to the car. Not enough time. But instead, he sprinted for the trees. That was his best bet for now. It was all he had.

He heard the crack of the shotgun behind him and the splintering of a tree off to his right. Too close. He kept going, hoping to put as much distance between him and that cabin as possible. He didn't stop to think about where he could end up. He'd worry about that later.

The snow on the ground wasn't deep, but he was leaving tracks. They could follow him easily. Had to throw them off somehow. Had to hide.

He kept running for what felt like a very long time, not daring to stop for fear of catching a bullet, but eventually, his legs just refused to keep it up and he tripped over his own feet, landing hard on his belly. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, but stayed there, panting heavily. His lungs burned from the cold air, and he coughed a few times before lifting his head, listening closely for anything that should alarm him.

The woods were silent, eerily so. Through the trees, he saw nothing but more trees and a blanket of snow disturbed only by his footprints leading back in a twisted line. Would they keep following until they caught up, or would they let him go and not bother? He wasn't taking a chance on that.

Getting to his feet again, he started backtracking, being sure to place his feet carefully in each print, then when he had gone back a ways, he forged a new trail off in a different direction. He backtracked on that one, then did the same thing several more times. And just in case that wasn't enough, he also climbed a tree and jumped to the one beside it, then the one beside that and the one beside that. Only once he was what he assumed a safe distance from all his tracks did he drop back to the ground, looking behind.

All he could see was untouched snow. Hopefully if they came that far, they wouldn't be able to pick up his trail.

-)()(-

Peter had worked undercover with Neal plenty of times. They were flawless together, almost reading each other's minds when the situation called for improvisation. Such as this one.

The only problem was that Neal had no idea he had an ally in this.

Hopefully, once Peter set things in motion, he'd pick it up, but until then, he needed to know as much as he could about what was happening here. He stayed back, keeping all the lights on his car turned off. He'd been following Mayer for hours, and when they got to the more deserted roads, it had been difficult to stay out of sight, but not lose his target. Now, however, he saw the truck stop at the end of a long and winding dirt road. The lights of a cabin came into view, so Peter pulled his car off to the side of the road, practically parking it in the woods before getting out.

Mayer walked inside, but his friend stayed out by the car, smoking, so Peter crept closer until he was pressed against the wall by a window, listening. He heard Mayer talking, then his heartbeat sped up a little when he recognized Neal's voice, and he risked a peek through the window. No one was paying attention, all their eyes on Neal in the center of the room.

His hands weren't tied or anything, and he didn't look much like a prisoner. But Peter knew he didn't want to be there, just by the way he was holding himself. His stance was too defensive and tense. He looked ready to flee at any given moment.

Well good, because Peter had a plan. He just hoped Neal took the opportunity when it was given to do... something helpful.

Peter snuck around the edge of the cabin, finding the power box on the back wall. He didn't even hesitate to open it up and flip the right switch. 

As the cabin was plunged into darkness, he skirted back around the side to the front quickly, gun already drawn as he heard the door burst open.

When he came around the corner, he saw two men struggling. One was Neal, the other was the guy who had been out by the car.

'Something helpful, Neal!' he silently scolded, but there was no time to be picky. The other man had a gun and Neal didnt, so there was only one thing to do. As the door opened again and Mayer stared at the scene in surprise, Peter brought his gun to aim, and pulled the trigger.

Neal was quick to get on his feet, and he only paused in confusion for a second before taking off like a jackrabbit for the trees. Good. Now all that was left to worry about was Mayer and whoever else was left.

Peter ducked back around the side of the cabin. He wasn't an idiot. He knew he was outgunned. Think, Burke, think.

The crack of a shotgun did the thinking for him and he took another peek around the corner. Mayer and three other men stood at the edge of the trees, staring off after Neal. One made to give chase, but Mayer barked, "Let him go! Just fucking let him go!" He sounded severely pissed off.

Peter ducked back again when they turned around and started back. His heart almost stopped when he heard, "Spread out. There's someone else here."

He should have had backup. He should have at least called somebody and let them know this was going down. Well, maybe it wasn't too late for that. He snuck away from the cabin again, back towards his car. Luckily, it was dark enough to where he wouldn't be easily seen, but even so, he held his breath, just waiting for one of the men to shout out, "I found him!"

But they didn't, and he made it to his car, pulling out his phone and dialing the local police station. He hadn't told them he was coming, but he was sure they would appreciate a tip off.

"Captain Hendricks," a deep rugged voice greeted.

"This is Special Agent Peter Burke. I need you to bring a team to my location. I have Edward Mayer and his crew, but I need backup. We're on Jasper Drive off of West Wing Road."

The Captain wasted no time, and Peter could already hear him rounding up a team. "Agent Burke," he said, "Your people told me you'd be in our neck of the woods. Hang tight, we should be there soon."

Of course. Jones must have called. Thank God for that man...

"I need to go find my..." What was Neal to him now? To make things simpler, he just finished, "...partner. I don't think they'll be going anywhere after I immobilize their truck. Do you think you can handle them on your own?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Hendricks said. "Get your partner. But let me know when you're both safe, ya hear?"

"Yes, sir," Peter said, then hung up. Now to catch Neal Caffrey. He was 4 and 0, so he was confident of his chances.

After carefully circling around and stealing a rather important piece of their truck, Peter tossed it as far as he could, summoning his baseball skills to pitch it so far into the woods, they'd never find it, even if there wasn't snow on the ground. Then, after a careful look around to make sure he didn't run into Mayer or his crew, he moved around the area quietly, searching for Neal's tracks.

He found them easily and set off, keeping an eye on the trail and the darkened sky. At least the snow made things look brighter thanks to the reflection of the moonlight.

He had been imagining this reunion for years, playing it over in his head a different way every time. Truthfully, he didn't know how Neal would react to him being here, but he just hoped that even under the stress of time, their partnership had still left its mark.

As snowflakes began to float down through the bare branches of the trees, Peter quickened his pace a little. There was no telling how far Neal had gone, and he didn't want to end up stuck out here when the tracks got covered by new snow.

That didn't seem to be a problem, though, because he had a different kind of issue to deal with. The trail branched off in several different directions as though Neal himself had split into... five people, by the looks of it.

Peter was familiar with this tactic, but didn't think he'd ever actually have to use it. Yet another thing Neal was proving him wrong about. With a sigh, he looked around. It must have taken time to do this. Neal couldn't have gotten far. So rather than waste his own time, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted out, "Neal!"

His voice carried quite well over the frozen terrain, and he stayed absolutely still, trying to listen while he squinted through the snowfall, which had started to become heavier and heavier by the minute. He called out one more time, but felt his hope dwindling.

After a moment, he gave a resigned sigh and returned his attention once more to the maze of tracks in the snow. He could figure it out, with a little puzzling.

-)()(-

Neal had been trudging along for close to five minutes, no more than that, when he heard something. It was a voice, he was sure, but it sent a flash of alarm through him, realizing that it could only belong to Mayer or one of his men. What if they were all out here searching for him? He didn't stand a chance.

He froze, listening closer, but the voice, while it sounded familiar, didn't belong to Mayer. Could be one of the twins, he supposed, but then why did it sound so recognizable? And wait, he'd specifically heard his name. His real one. Not "Nick", and not "Halden".

Neal was a man of reason, so he turned around, but didn't call out. If it was somebody on his side, great, and if it was someone who wasn't, well, he'd try not to be spotted just in case.

The snow sounded so loud under his feet, and he winced with every step. Surely whoever else was out here with him would hear it. But as he caught sight of a man and stopped abruptly, he could tell that he hadn't been noticed yet.

The guy was older, silver already well on the way to taking over the hairs on his head. He had all his attention focused on the jumble of false trails before him, carefully stepping in Neal's tracks so he didn't make a mess of the scene with his own.

It was like somebody had flipped a switch and everything suddenly just stopped dead.

Peter Burke.

Peter Burke was stepping in his tracks, that look on his face so familiar. His brow was furrowed in concentration, trying to think the problem through, and he would. He always did. 

Neal decided to save him the trouble.

"Did you lose something?" he asked, his voice splitting the silence of the forest around them.

Peter stopped, waited a beat, then slowly turned to face him with barely contained relief in his eyes. "I just found him," he smiled.

Neal's face broke into a grin and Peter practically ran towards him, no longer caring about stepping all over the tracks in the snow. They were hardly visible by now anyway, steadily being covered by the clumps falling from the sky.

That posed a whole new problem, so Neal gave Peter a quick pat on the shoulder. "It's good to see you again, but we'd better get moving before this snow completely covers our trail. I assume Mayer isn't a problem anymore?"

"You assume correctly," Peter replied. "Local law enforcement were en route when I took off to find you. I assume by the time we get back there, they'll have the whole mess cleaned up."

"Doing your job for you?" Neal asked, leading the way back along the muffled trail of footprints. "What was so important that it brought you all the way out to Montana, anyway?"

Peter didn't bother to lie. "You." He shrugged helplessly. "I guess we're both back to old habits."

Neal frowned and shook his head. "No, we're not. I wasn't working with Mayer of my own free will and you know that."

"That's why I came," Peter said. "So you've gone straight, huh?" He gave him a look that said he didn't believe him entirely.

"Don't look at me like that," Neal said on a sigh. "I haven't been causing any trouble."

"Oh, I was just checking out that beard, Cal," Peter smiled. "And the drastic wardrobe change. This seems different than any of the other aliases you've used. I don't recall the other ones being so..."

"Woodsy?" Neal filled in. "That's because this was about the Panthers. And the people I care about. I wasn't taking any chances."

"I was under the impression that you went to Paris," Peter said. "A misdirect?"

"No," Neal answered. "I did go to Paris. For two years, actually. I had planned on staying there."

Peter looked over at him in puzzlement. "What changed?"

Neal shook his head with a sigh, his breath clouding the air. In the dark, it stood out more prominently. "It's a long story, and I'll never tell a soul."

Peter looked like he wanted to press, as Peter was prone to do, but he didn't. Instead, he looked down at the snow in front of them, suddenly slowing his pace. "How can you tell where you're going? I can't even see the trail anymore."

"I'm just guessing at this point," Neal admitted, and at Peter's alarmed look, he continued quickly. "We're not far. We'll be able to see the cabin when we get close."

If Peter had any complaints about that idea, he didn't voice them, but Neal recognized that deep set frown on his face and did his best to reassure his old friend with enough confidence for both of them. So they kept walking... and walking... and walking, until Neal stopped. They had gone too far. They should have come across the cabin by now. 

Peter had realized the same thing. "Do we turn around?" he asked.

Neal shot him a look. "Aren't you supposed to be the boy scout? I was hoping you had a better idea."

"Oh no, don't go blaming this on me. I'm not the one who went running off into the woods in the first place."

"Would you be happier if I'd gotten shot?" Neal countered. "Come on, we can't be far." As they turned back, Peter pulled out his phone again, but of course there was no service. The snow didn't seem to be letting up either.

It was late, near midnight, Neal assumed. A glance at Peter's phone confirmed that, and he sighed heavily, shivering a bit in the frigid air. He had his coat on, but that only helped so much, and he lacked gloves. His hat didn't even come down over his ears.

Peter seemed to be faring pretty well. As Neal inspected him further, he noticed a slight limp, though, which made him frown. "You hurt?" he asked.

Peter glanced back at him, frowning. "What? No."

"You're limping," Neal pointed out.

"Oh, yeah," Peter said with a small smile. "Got shot a few years back. Had to have two surgeries to fix the damn thing and it never was the same. Took me off of field work."

Neal frowned again. "Well that couldn't have been easy for you."

Peter shook his head, but not in agreement. "A lot has changed since you... left."

"You never came after me," Neal said. He wouldn't admit it, but all these years, some part of him had kind of hoped that Agent Peter Burke would show up on his doorstep one day, flashing his badge and saying something cheesy like "This makes me five and oh."

Peter glanced at him with another shake of his head. "No."

-)()(-

Sleeping next to Neal Caffrey was uncomfortable enough, but sleeping almost underneath him with their arms wrapped around each other for warmth was... yeah. They said nothing about it, though, knowing that they couldn't be petty about things like that if they wanted to survive.

Neal, oddly enough... he fit here. He seemed like he belonged. Of course, that was what he did. He reinvented him for that very purpose. He made himself fit. Back in New York, he had seemed one with the city, confident in it. It was the same here now, and Peter couldn't help but wonder which was the real Neal. He would guess the one he had worked with all those years ago. He'd gone by his own name, hung out with his own friends, had that special Caffrey charm...

But here and now... This version did seem sort of real too. Neal was under no man's rule or law. He was confident in a different way. He was "Cal". But he was also himself. Parts of the real Neal Peter had never seen before were shining through because this persona was allowing them to. 

They didn't sleep long, just until the sun came up and it started to get a little warmer again. Not much, though, so they were both shivering as they got going again, leaving the shelter of the pine they'd slept under.

Neal was pretty quiet as they trudged through the snow, and it seemed rude to break the silence, so Peter just let his thoughts wander, leading the way in what he hoped was a straight line. He could hear a river, so he branched off in that direction, perking up. They should both keep hydrated.

"What are you doing?" Neal asked, and Peter glanced over at him, gesturing to the small stream he could spot through the trees. Neal looked that way and nodded. "Oh. Yeah, good idea. It's easy to get dehydrated out here. Especially in the winter."

Peter had to laugh. "Neal Caffrey the mountain man. I gotta say, I didn't see that one coming. I used to pride myself on knowing you so well."

Neal grinned. "I couldn't let that go on forever, could I?"

Neither of them had really realized how thirsty they were until they started drinking the ice cold stream water. Peter wished they had a canteen or something to fill so they could bring it with them.

After they had both gotten as much as they wanted, they continued on through the snow. Not far from the stream, they came to a large open meadow, and after that, they struck a trail that lead upwards. "Good," Peter said, "We can get a good vantage point, maybe spot some kind of civilization."

Luck must have been on their side because they didn't even have to go all the way up before Neal stopped, tugging on Peter's coat. "Hey, hey. Look. What's that?"

Peter stopped as well, squinting in the direction his friend was pointing. At first, he couldn't see what Neal was talking about, but then he saw something through the trees, a small structure partially hidden from view where they stood. "Looks like some kind of hunter's shelter," he said. "Probably worth a look."

"Definitely," Neal agreed, and led the way in that direction.

It took them much longer to get to it that Peter had anticipated, and he was a little disappointed when, after an hour, they approached the little hut and it was clear to anyone that it was long abandoned. He tried to look at the bright side, though. Maybe there were supplies left over. Food. Blankets. Although it could be empty as well.

"It's a sheepman's hut," Neal said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

"Sheepman?" Peter questioned as they approached.

Neal nodded. "Spaniards from up near the border who weren't welcome there. A long time ago, a bunch of them traveled down here and raised sheep in the mountains. To this day, you can still find their sardine cans and snuff boxes."

"Yeah, well lets hope they left behind something better," Peter grunted. However, a search of the hut turned up nothing but an old rifle and a package of jerky that some hunter must have left there. Why they'd leave a gun, Peter had no idea, but it might be useful to them. There were dangerous animals in these woods, he knew that much.

After Neal slipped the strap of the rifle over his shoulder and stuffed the jerky in his pocket, he gazed inside the hut one more time before beckoning to Peter. "Come on, let's go. There's nothing else here for us."

Once again, they began trudging through the snow in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this done SOOOO much sooner so I sincerely apologize. I have no excuse. But anyway, here it is, I hope you like it. Now the real whump begins...

The cold was beginning to get to them, and Peter felt thirsty again soon enough. He kept his hands deep inside his pockets in an effort to keep them warm, but it didn't help much.

When they came upon another stream, he and Neal took the opportunity to drink again. The bank was slippery and steep, not to mention almost covered in thick bushes and thorns. There was only a small section they found where they could reach the water one at a time. Peter let Neal go first while he glanced around, hearing nothing but the wind through the pines. It was almost eerily silent, which he found odd since not long ago he had been admiring the song of several different birds.

Neal backed away from the stream and let Peter have his turn. The water tasted almost better, and he took his time.

When he stood back up and looked at Neal, he froze. Neal was stopped dead, staring at something off in front of him with silent fear all over his face.

Peter was almost afraid to look, but he did.

A bear. The biggest bear in the world, Peter was almost sure of it. It was a grizzly, its brown fur thick and heavy. And it was ambling closer, head low as it sniffed along the ground.

Neal quickly slipped the rifle off his shoulder, but Peter put a hand on his and shook his head quickly. "No, no, no, we don't want to do that. It'll take more than a .30-.30 to take him down. Come on, quick." He practically dragged Neal over to a tree with climbable stumps for branches. "Go, straight up. As high as you can."

Neal shook his head stubbornly, setting the rifle against the tree and cupping his hands low. "You first. You're the one with the gimpy leg. I'll be right behind you."

Peter contemplated arguing, but there was no time for that, so he let Neal give him a boost, glancing back towards the bear. It was watching them from afar, a few hundred feet, but that was still much too close for Peter's liking.

He climbed as fast as his leg would let him, then when he thought he was high enough, he looked back down at Neal, who had picked up the rifle again and was holding it by the muzzle as he lifted it towards Peter. "Here, take it, take it."

Peter reached down, grasping for the gun, and that was when Neal turned to look back at the bear. As he did, the gun moved, and Peter ended up grabbing the trigger.

The shot that rang out scared him half to death. He hadn't been expecting it.

Neal fell quickly without a sound, and the rifle fell with him.

"Neal!" Peter screamed, eyes wide with shock. Where had he been hit? How bad was it? Was he dead? He looked dead. Eyes open, staring at the sky, not breathing.

"Neal," Peter gasped. "Neal, oh god... Neal!" He looked towards the bear again when he saw it move. It was looking right at Neal, ears pricked.

Neal suddenly seemed to come to life again, and he rolled onto his belly, grabbing the rifle simultaneously. He brought it to aim and Peter allowed himself to believe that everything was fine. Neal hadn't actually been hit.

Neal didn't shoot, just laid there with the rifle to his shoulder watching the bear, which huffed, blowing white puffs of breath into the air before turning away.

Time seemed to move at a more normal pace now, reality coming back as Peter realized, yes, this was very real. "Neal!" he called again as Neal let go of the rifle and rolled back over, curling in on himself as he reached for his leg, but didn't touch it. Blood was already staining the snow around the limb and the pained noises from below were enough to snap Peter out of it. He climbed back down the tree as fast as he could, landing hard as he dropped the last few feet to the ground.

Neal was breathing heavily, soft cries escaping with each exhale. Peter was beside him in an instant, placing a hand on his chest to try to calm him and also keep him still. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. Breathe. I'm so sorry."

Neal shook his head, panting through the pain. "It's alright," he gasped. 

Peter looked at his leg, finding the spot where the blood seemed to be coming from just above his knee. Entry wound. Where was the exit wound? Maybe it hadn't gone through. He wasn't going to try and dig it out. Then he noticed the blood in the snow by Neal's foot and his heart sank as he realized how bad this was.

He scooted down by Neal's feet and looked. Sure enough, there was a hole blown in his heel, right out through his boot. His suspicions were confirmed when he eased up Neal's pant leg to see the dark line down the side of it where he was hemorrhaging into the bullet's tunnel.

Neal lifted his head shakily. "How bad?"

Peter couldn't reply for a moment, staring at the damage. After what felt like a very long silence, he said, "Bad... It's bad. We need- We need a tourniquet."

Neal's face fell, but he nodded stiffly, knowing it had to be done.

Peter used his swiss army knife to jab a hole in the bottom of his shirt, and from there, he ripped a strip of it free to wrap around Neal's thigh. Using a short stick, he tied the fabric tightly, then began to twist.

He tried to block out Neal's screams, but didn't quite succeed.

Once that was done, Neal lay there looking on the verge of unconciousness, but then he spoke. "I'm not gonna be able to walk."

Peter had realized that, but he'd had time to think about it during this tourniquet business. "I can make you a crutch. All I need is a forked branch long enough for you to use. Just give me a minute."

Neal didn't argue that, keeping his eyes closed while Peter went off to find said branch.

He was haunted by that gunshot, still ringing in his ears. He could still feel his fingers pulling the trigger, the kickback... His fault.

No. He shook those thoughts from his head. It was nobody's fault. Although he wouldn't blame Neal for blaming him. 

He came back with a makeshift crutch and helped Neal stand up so he could measure out how much of it he had to cut off to make sure the tork reached Neal's armpit. It took a couple minutes, but finally Neal was leaning against the stick heavily and Peter was supporting him from the other side.

They were both breathing heavily within the first ten minutes, and Neal kept making pained noises, though it was obvious he was trying to stifle them.

Progress was slow, but Peter said nothing, knowing that their chances of getting out of here had dropped by a lot when that gun had gone off. And it didn't help that they were already lost before the incident happened. Now the sense of urgency had tripled at least. It wasn't even an option. They would make it out. They had to.

They had gone maybe a few hundred feet before Neal stopped, shoving the crutch away with a frustrated grimace. "This thing is useless!" he spat.

Peter had to agree. It was more of a hindrance, and what little help it did provide cost them time. "Alright," he said. "Probably best to leave it. Maybe I can drag you. If I can put together a... a sled or something. That could work."

"A sled," Neal panted. "That could take too long. Just..." He coughed a few times, and Peter was reminded of how cold it was. "Just leave me here. You can get out on your own. Get help."

"No," Peter said firmly. "I'm not leaving you. I don't think I could find my way back to you anyway. Don't start that." He looked at his friend firmly. "We figure this out together. Just like old times."

Neal nodded, still breathing hard, but he just closed his eyes and leaned heavily against a tree while Peter had a look around to see what he had to work with. However, after a minute or two, he realized Neal was right. Whatever he could cobble together wouldn't work. It would only take up time and energy for something that probably wouldn't slide very well over the snow. Even so, he refused to leave his friend behind.

"Here's what we're gonna do," he said, getting Neal's attention. Once those blue eyes were focused on his, he said, "You're gonna get on my back and I'm gonna carry you."

Neal frowned, already shaking his head. "Peter, no... your leg."

"It's fine," Peter insisted. "I've been carrying my son around for years now. You're just a little heavier. Now come on. It's either this or we both stay here and freeze to death."

Neal didn't look happy about it, but he nodded, keeping all his weight on one leg while he stood a bit straighter next to the tree he was using for support. "Okay... When you're ready."

Peter walked closer, then turned his back to him and crouched a bit, ready to catch him. "On three. One... two... three!"

Neal hopped up onto his back, arms over his shoulders, and Peter caught his legs to hold him up. He tried to be gentle with the injured right one, but Neal still had to stifle a cry of pain. But they were upright, which was the goal. Peter took a moment to test his footing, then slowly began hobbling forward, keeping a good grip on Neal.

"You know," Neal gasped through the agony, "This is the second time I've been shot in this leg. I'm... I'm beginning to think the universe doesn't like me much."

"Penance for all your mischievous deeds?" Peter snorted. "Some kind of karma?"

"What goes around comes around," Neal chuckled lightly.

"I don't believe in that stuff," Peter grunted, putting one foot in front of the other as he plowed a path through the snow. It wasn't as difficult as he'd sort of expected. He could keep this up a while.

Neal just clung to him and kept quiet after that. They were making good progress, actually. Better than they had with the crutch. Peter's leg hurt a bit from the strain, but he kept his mouth shut about that, knowing his own pain was nothing compared to Neal's.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while.

"Hm?" Neal questioned, lifting his head.

"I should have made sure the safety was on," Peter explained.

Neal just patted him on the chest. "Wasn't your fault, Peter." After another moment had gone by in silence, he asked, "Did we leave it? The gun? What if... the bear..."

"You've got it," Peter assured him. "We put it on your back when we left, remember?"

Neal didn't reply, and Peter figured he'd been in too much pain to pay attention when he'd slipped the strap of the rifle over his shoulder.

It was their only weapon if the bear did track them, which wouldn't be hard for it to do, considering all the blood in the snow behind them, marking their path in a painfully obvious way.

Peter was so intent on keeping up the pace that he hardly noticed the passing of time. His limp became much more pronounced, but he ignored that too, just looking down at the snow in front of him. Left, right, left, right. On and on.

Neal's voice jerked him back to the moment. "You can stop for a bit," he said.

Peter ignored him, returning his focus to the snow and the way his steps disturbed it.

"You can set me down, Peter," Neal repeated. When he didn't receive an answer again, he sighed. "I get it. No resting. No talking."

They fell into silence once again and Peter was glad for it. His breathing was steady and his steps were sure. If he could just keep this up, they'd cover a lot of ground, maybe not have to spend the night in the woods again under the shelter of pine trees.

-)()(-

Neal kept his eyes closed and left himself drift, listening to the soft noises of Peter walking through the snow. With his arms draped over the agent's shoulders and his legs hanging down on either side, he felt like a little kid. But usually piggy back rides were supposed to be a fun ordeal. Not that he'd had firsthand experience. His father had never given him one, as far as he knew. He'd either been too young to remember, or his father hadn't been there.

He decided he didn't like them. At least not at this given moment. His leg felt like it was being torn apart with every slight jolt, and he hated that he had to make Peter do this. 

The wind at his back made him shiver uncontrollably, and he only hoped Peter didn't notice. 

Who was he kidding? Of course Peter noticed.

The sudden feeling of falling was the only warning he got, and then he was landing hard on his bad leg. He couldn't hold back the scream that tore itself from his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing harshly through his teeth.

"Neal!" Peter gasped breathlessly. "You okay?"

Neal nodded. "Yeah," he bit out, then opened his eyes to stare up at the sky through the trees. The pain slowly ebbed into the now constant throbbing, which was more manageable.

Peter sat up first, looking back at where he'd fallen to see a frozen tuft of dark fur sticking up out of the snow.

He and Neal exchanged a glance before Peter crawled over to clear some more snow away.

A bear cub, crusted blood adorning its head where it had been chewed open. Neal turned his head away so he didn't have to see, and he heard Peter mutter a curse.

"What happened to it?" Neal asked. What would kill a baby bear? Certainly not its own mother. An adult male? Possibly the one that they'd seen.

"Hell if I know," Peter answered, then said with a shrug, "But as long as it's here, we may as well use it. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Neal stared at the man incredulously. "You- Wha- I am not eating that," he stated firmly.

Peter was already taking the knife back out of his pocket and using it to start cutting through the thick hide. Neal refused to watch, returning his gaze to the treetops as he laid his head back in the snow.

He didn't realize he'd been drifting off until the quiet became too noticeable. He opened his eyes again, lifting his head to glance around. Peter was nowhere in sight, but he'd cleared space for a fire and had begun to fill it with small sticks. So that probably meant he was off gathering more.

Neal tried to relax, but every noise seemed to scream "BEAR" to his ears and he eventually pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes darting this way and that to try and catch a glimpse of Peter's figure through the trees. Seeing no Burke in sight, he decided to focus his attention on something more productive.

His leg was still bleeding, the material of his pant leg glistening with it. That definitely wasn't a good sign. The tourniquet clearly wasn't doing all that much to stop it, but maybe it was helping enough. Perhaps he would have already bled to death without it. As for his foot, that hurt a lot less than his knee did. He could avoid stepping on it, but he couldn't avoid shifting his leg. He hadn't mentioned it to Peter, but every time his knee bent even slightly, he could feel bone grinding against itself and he couldn't help but imagine all the little pieces, shattered by the bullet, shifting around unattached to anything. It made him feel sick.

More noise made him jerk his head up, but it was just Peter, carrying an armful of sticks, thick and thin. None of them looked very dry, but nothing was dry out here, not with all the snow.

Peter set the sticks down nearby, then started using a few of them to build up a nice spot for a fire, if they could get one started.

"Let's see those boyscout skills," Neal teased lightly.

"It's been a long time since boyscouts," Peter grunted, situating the sticks in a way that was perfect for a fire, or so Neal assumed.

He'd been pretending to be like the people who lived out here and did this kind of thing all the time, but he wasn't one of them. He was Neal Caffrey, as much as he tried to bury it, and Neal Caffrey wouldn't be caught dead out in the woods making a fire from scratch and wearing plaid.

It was getting dark again by the time Peter managed to get the fire going steadily, and Neal had been struggling to stay awake for a while now. In fact, he must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing he knew, Peter was nudging him awake, saying, "Here. You need to eat."

Neal blinked sleepily at what was being offered to him: a stick with cooked meat on the end. "I'm not even gonna ask," he mumbled, taking it gratefully. He was hungry now, to the point where his stomach ached. He wished he had water, but they had no place to store some, so he'd have to wait until they came across another stream or something.

They ate in silence, both lost in thought as they stared at the fire.

Neal tossed his stick in, then looked over at his friend, breaking the silence as he asked quietly, "This is bad, isn't it?"

Peter took a moment to answer, which wasn't reassuring. "People are looking for us. We just have to wait it out, that's all."

Neal returned his gaze to the fire with a small nod, but said nothing. While he did believe that they had people out looking for them, he wasn't sure it was that easy to find two people in the middle of the woods in Montana, especially considering that he and Peter had been walking quite a bit. Who knew how far they'd gone away from the cabin?

-)()(-

The night brought freezing temperatures, and even with the pine branches they'd laid down in thick layers on top of the snow, the cold seemed to seep up through them anyway.

Peter kept the fire going as they both tried to get some sleep. He kept Neal closest to the warmth while the agent wrapped his arms around him from behind, doing his best to keep him warm. But Neal still shivered hard all night, his shaky breathing too audible, in Peter's opinion.

Morning arrived before he knew it, and he was woken by a strange sound. He opened his eyes, looking around through bleary eyes as he tried to figure out what it had been.

When it came again, he knew instantly, and he couldn't sit up fast enough, eyes wide and heart hammering.

That was a bear.

Neal stirred only slightly when Peter moved away from him, grabbing the gun from where they'd leaned it up against the rock last night. It wasn't much at all, but it was all he had at the moment.

He kept his back to the rock wall, looking through the trees in all directions, but the noise didn't come again. He wondered if that was a good or bad thing.

His nerves were frayed already, and he didn't dare move, didn't dare make a sound.

The seconds ticked by, and he finally looked down at the gun. The safety was on, he'd made sure of that. He should have made sure when they'd found it in that damn hut. Hell, they should have stayed there instead of trying to walk out of here on their own.

He slowly calmed his breathing, listening to the embers of the fire crackle softly and the whistle of the wind through the trees. 

He looked down at Neal when he stirred again, but quickly frowned when he realized something was wrong.

Neal rolled over with jerky movements, one hand grasping wildly for Peter as he took short, shallow breaths through his nose.

"Neal?"

Neal's body stiffened as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the snow by the fire. He heaved on even after nothing more would come up, and Peter was alarmed to see blood mixed in with the puddle of bile.

After it was finally over, Neal lay there shivering violently. Peter had already started shoving more sticks into the fire, trying to build it up again. His own hands were shaking and his mind raced. This wasn't good. Neal needed a hospital or he wouldn't last much longer. His leg was still bleeding sluggishly, much to Peter's disappointment. He had been hoping that it would have stopped by now.

Neal was taking shallow, rasping breaths that sounded wet and awful, making Peter's worry reach an all time high as he came closer to his friend. "It's okay," he said. "You're gonna be fine. Just breathe."

Neal sounded like he made a conscious effort to do so, but then his breath caught and he was choking again, spasming as he dry heaved for a few more seconds.

Peter felt helpless, holding him from behind and just murmuring to him that everything would be okay. At this point, getting out of here felt like a dream, nothing more. Neal couldn't make it another night out here, he was sure of it, not with his leg still bleeding and now this.

Eventually, Neal went quiet, shivering in Peter's arms.

They didn't move for a good hour afterwards, making sure Neal wasn't going to be sick again, and giving the fire time to grow. Neal stayed close to it while Peter kept adding sticks. It wasn't as warm as he was hoping, but it kept them from freezing.

Once the sun was high, Peter stomped it out, putting the rifle over Neal's shoulder again before lifting him onto his back so they could continue.

Neal clung to him weakly, still trembling uncontrollably as he rested his head against Peter's back and spoke not a word.

They crossed more woods until they came to an open meadow, covered in a pristine and untouched blanket of snow. It was deeper here, but Peter headed out into it anyway. They'd be easily seen here if anybody came looking, especially from the sky. 

"You doing okay back there?" Peter asked as they set off across the meadow, making slow progress.

A quiet, breathy "yeah" was his answer.

For the next several minutes, the only sound was the wind and Peter's feet crunching through the snow. It was almost rhythmic, and he had a hard time paying attention to much else, at least until one foot suddenly went much deeper and water splashed up around his boot. He hasn't been prepared for it, so he fell forward with a grunt, Neal now on top of him.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "The water's covered by snow." It made him wonder if this entire meadow was actually a lake, which was a scary thought, considering his foot had just gone through the ice. But then he saw a cluster of trees off to the right, smack in the middle, and that reassured him a bit. Trees didn't grow in the middle of lakes, as far as he knew. Unless it was an island...

Neal was being strangely quiet and still, so Peter wiggled out from under him, rolling him over to see that his eyes were closed, his expression slack.

"Neal? Neal! Come on, wake up. You don't get to quit on me." He smacked the side of his face lightly, the snow on his gloves probably helping a bit to shock him back to awareness, and it worked. 

The younger man blinked up at him, then muttered, "What? A guy can't rest his eyes for a minute?"

"Not out here," Peter answered. "Not when its this cold."

Neal sighed, closing his eyes again briefly before struggling to sit up. Peter helped him there, then asked, "You ready to keep going?"

"Sitting here isn't exactly getting us anywhere, yeah," he answered, then let Peter help him up onto his good leg so he could hop once again onto his back.

As Peter trudged onward, being careful of where he stepped now, he said, "Talk to me so I know you're awake."

After a second, Neal spoke, a grin in his voice. "Full immunity?"

Peter smiled to himself, nodding. "Absolutely. And I'll do you one better. When we get out of here, I owe you coffee with your friend Joan."

"Joan? You met her?"

"Sure did. You two aren't...?"

"No," Neal replied, sounding amused. "No..." After several more seconds of silence, he spoke up again. "Actually, I didn't just move out here to hide... There was something else."

"A girl?" Peter guessed. It always was with Neal. He couldn't say he was surprised this time.

"Yeah. Katie."

Peter could hear fatigue in Neal's voice, so he adjusted his grip on him, trying to jostle him back to alertness. "Tell me about Katie."

"She was in Paris on vacation," Neal started. "We met on the street, kind of an accident. I stole her wallet..."

Peter bit back the chiding "Neal..." on his tongue and instead just waited for him to continue.

"She said she was from Montana, and after we spent a week together in Paris, she went home. After a while I thought I'd come find her. Moved here. Got a dog..."

Silence for a moment. Peter waited, and when Neal offered no other words, he tried jostling him again, saying, "I know you like dogs. Satch liked you too." But he got no more response.

He changed course, heading for the trees at the center of the open field, or lake, or whatever it was. He stepped in water again, but this time managed to catch himself, continuing on until he reached the trees where he set Neal down and quickly checked him over. He was unconscious, and no amount of shaking or name-calling could rouse him, but at least he was breathing.

Peter checked his leg and his heart sank when he saw that it was still wet with fresh blood. Unless they got it to stop, Neal wouldn't make it far.

The tourniquet seemed to help a little, at least, but it wasn't enough, and he didn't dare take it off, so he took the opportunity to tighten it up some more now that Neal wasn't awake to feel it.

"You're not dying on my watch, Caffrey," he said firmly to no one. "Not on my watch."

The only reply he got was a soft breeze.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look im still kickin

"I keep thinking about Leo."

Neal's voice jolted Peter out of his silent rhythm, each step a beat in the song he was making up in his head, accompanied by the continuous stream of thinking, 'left, right, left, right, left...'

"Leo?" he questioned, puzzled.

"DiCaprio," Neal hummed. "You know."

It took Peter a moment to understand, then his face broke into the briefest of smiles. "I didn't see The Revenant."

"I did. Wasn't going to, but... Joan insisted. She had nobody else..." A beat of silence. "It stopped snowing."

Peter raised his eyes to the sky. "Yes, it did. But it might start up again. Those clouds look pretty dark." They had been that way ever since he got to Montana, though, so he wasn't sure if that was just how they usually looked or if they were in for more snow.

"Cold," Neal breathed after another long moment had gone by.

"I know," Peter said, adjusting his grip on him again. "I know..."

-)()(-

Time had little meaning now. Every time Peter glanced up, the sun seemed to be in the same position in the sky. All he could do was keep walking, and occasionally try to talk to Neal. At least one of those things was consistent.

They needed food, he decided after what felt like another eternity of walking. He wasn't sure what he'd be able to find out here, especially in the dead of winter, but he could try, couldn't he?

He found a place at the edge of the field where he could set Neal down, then stood up and surveyed the landscape. Any direction seemed the same, so he just grabbed the rifle and set off, being sure to make note of where he had left Neal. He refused to get lost, this time unable to find his way back to his friend, who needed him to survive now. That was quite the realization. Neal needed him.

For a while, it was just snow and trees, not a single living being in sight. His steps seemed loud in the snow, and he wondered if he would even be able to find anything.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he spotted movement. He froze instantly, his eyes locking onto the creature only a few yards away. A rabbit, oblivious to his presence for the moment.

That was better than nothing. Peter slowly brought the gun to his shoulder and took aim, then pulled the trigger. The kickback briefly made the scene with Neal flash in his mind, but he pushed that aside. Unhelpful. Instead, he focused on the rabbit, which now lay unmoving in the snow.

It didn't take long to go grab it, then start his way back the way he'd come. As he walked, he looked down at his tracks, following them through the woods as he went over everything in his head again.

They were lost. Neal was hurt. They didn't actually know if anyone was looking for them, or if they were looking in the right place. They didn't have any idea how far they had gone in the wrong direction.

No, it didn't look good for them.

Neal was in the same place when he made it back there. It didn't look like he had moved an inch, and he hadn't opened his eyes either, so Peter let him be. He had a fire to build and a rabbit to cook, so he set his efforts on that. One thing at a time.

After getting the fire started, he felt eyes on him, so he glanced over at Neal, who was looking over tiredly.

"Hey," Peter said, "How you holding up?"

Neal shrugged with one shoulder. "Holding," he mumbled. "What's that?"

Peter held up the rabbit with a proud smile. "Dinner."

In response, Neal made a grossed-out face and said, "Pass."

"Really? You're gonna be picky now? You have to eat something," Peter said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Whether you like it or not."

Neal sighed. "Yes, dad."

Peter stirred up the fire a bit, then started cutting up the rabbit, asking, "You gonna finish telling me about Katie? Did you ever find her?"

Neal was quite for a moment, then shook his head. "No."

"No, you're not gonna tell me or no, you didn't find her?"

"I got here and started asking around," Neal started, shifting a bit over by the tree he was sitting against. He winced at the movement, but continued. "I found a friend of hers, Lucy. She... She works at the library."

"Yeah?" Peter hummed, putting bits of rabbit meat on sticks to cook them.

"She told me Katie was dead," Neal said quietly. "She died right after she got in from Paris. On the way home from the airport. There was a... an accident. She didn't make it."

Peter looked over at him, his heart sinking. He could only imagine how Neal felt. "That's... I'm sorry, Neal."

Neal shook his head with a wry smile. "That's what I get, coming all the way out here on a whim. For all I knew she could have had a boyfriend."

"You've always been impulsive," Peter said, gazing into the fire while he turned the stick in his hand slowly. "I'm glad for that, though. Lord knows how many times it saved both our asses, right?"

Neal smiled over at him, then resumed his silence.

Once the rabbit was done, Peter forced Neal to eat some of it. He didn't take much, but it was something, and with a little snow he melted into water, he felt a bit better about things.

As night fell once more, he curled up close to Neal by the fire and listened to the crackling of the burning twigs and the whisper of wind through the barren trees.

-)()(-

Niel woke up to the familiar uneven shuffling of Peter's footsteps through the snow, and he realized he was once again on the agent's back, being carried along. When had that happened?

"How long you been walking?" he mumbled, not bothering to lift his head.

"Just an hour," Peter panted. "Got up at the crack of dawn."

Neal hummed, giving his chest a little pat with a gloved hand. "Giddyup," he teased, one corner of his lips tugging upward in a half smile.

He could practically feel the eye roll that earned him. Too bad he couldn't see it, his face pressed into Peter's coat.

God, his leg hurt. And not even the stabbing pain like in the beginning, this was a deep, bone-burning agony that throbbed to the beat of his heart. The entire limb felt foreign and wrong, and he wanted nothing more than to just cut it off. On top of that, he knew he was dehydrated, suffering from a significant loss of blood, and his stomach had been in knots since the other day.

"Peter?" he spoke up after a minute.

He felt Peter incline his head a bit. "Yeah, Neal."

"I just want you to know... In case we don't get out of this, I-"

"No," Peter said firmly. "None of that."

"But-"

"We're getting close, alright? I know it. We'll come across a road or something soon enough. We'll be fine, you hear me?"

"Yeah," Neal sighed. "Of course."

He listened to Peter's slow and steady steps for a while, the crunch of snow under his boots and the shuffle that accompanied each step. It was up to his knees now, and Neal winced in sympathy every time he stumbled.

"Peter?" he said again.

"We're not talking about that," Peter said firmly. "I'm getting us out of here."

"No. Peter..."

There must have been something in his voice because the agent stopped. "What is it?"

"I... Can y- Can you put me down? I..."

He didn't have to say any more, feeling Peter adjust his grip carefully but hurriedly as he lowered him to the ground, then turned to face him, crouching there in the snow and looking at him with worried eyes. "Neal? You okay?"

Neal had closed his eyes and he kept them that way, ignoring the question in favor of focusing on his breathing. Deep breaths, in and out, trying to force down the nausea that had returned full force.

Luckily, he was saved from the embarassment of throwing up again, but he was too exhausted to move, so Peter started clearing a space for a fire.

Neal curled up in the snow, shivering hard enough to where his breathing hitched with every shudder.

Everything drifted in and out. He was aware of Peter trying to get him to eat again, but he couldn't even muster up the energy to chew what he assumed was leftover rabbit meat. He drank tiny sips of water, but that was all. Most of it ended up running from his mouth anyway.

As he listened to Peter bustling around, he suddenly knew with a strange clarity that he was going to die here. He hoped Peter didn't feel too bad.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was Peter.

Prying his eyes open, he found his friend trying to get a fire started in the perfect circle of sticks he'd gathered. Peter caught him looking, lifting his head. "You okay?"

Neal was surprised by how hard it was to speak. "Y-You... You're doin... everything... you c-can..." He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, nodding once.

Peter's expression was a sad one, but he nodded as well. "Yeah. Of course, buddy."

Neal closed his eyes again and drifted again, this time staying there wherever he was. In a darkness that muted everything.

-)()(-

Peter was walking again, keeping his eyes down at his feet.

He felt like every step would be the last one he'd be able to manage, his limbs numb and weak.

Neal had stopped responding at their last camp, but that didn't stop him from carrying on the conversation by himself.

"Those clouds are still hanging in the sky. Have they always been like that? Seems like I haven't seen the sun since I got here."

A few steps and shuffles through the snow while more flakes floated down around them.

"For what it's worth... I'm sorry about Katie. You've just had some bad luck, haven't you? But hey, no more bad luck after this. I promise. El and I, we'll be there. You don't have to run anymore. We... We want you back. At home, with us. It's where you belong. You know that, right?"

He didn't receive an answer.

Sighing, he jumped a little to help himself get a better grip on Neal's legs. "You just have to hang on a little longer, okay? We're almost there."

The forest blanketed with snow ahead of him begged to differ, but Neal didn't have to know that.


End file.
